A House of Gentlefolk Part 10

"And what a time, what a place for men to think of loafing!" he cried at four o'clock, in a voice, however, which showed signs of sleepiness; "among us! now! in Russia where every separate individual has a duty resting upon him, a solemn responsibility to G.o.d, to the people, to himself. We are sleeping, and the time is slipping away; we are sleeping."....

"Permit me to observe," remarked Lavretsky, "that we are not sleeping at present but rather preventing others from sleeping. We are straining our throats like the c.o.c.ks--listen! there is one crowing for the third time."

This sally made Mihalevitch laugh, and calmed him down. "Good-bye till to-morrow," he said with a smile, and thrust his pipe into his pouch.

"Till to-morrow," repeated Lavretsky. But the friends talked for more than hour longer. Their voices were no longer raised, however, and their talk was quiet, sad, friendly talk.

Mihalevitch set off the next day, in spite of all Lavretsky's efforts to keep him. Fedor Ivanitch did not succeed in persuading him to remain; but he talked to him to his heart's content. Mihalevitch, it appeared, had not a penny to bless himself with. Lavretsky had noticed with pain the evening before all the tokens and habits of years of poverty; his boots were shabby, a b.u.t.ton was off on the back of his coat, on his arrival, he had not even thought of asking to wash, and at supper he ate like a shark, tearing his meat in his fingers, and crunching the bones with his strong black teeth. It appeared, too, that he had made nothing out of his employment, that he now rested all his hopes on the contractor who was taking him solely in order to have an "educated man"

in his office.

For all that Mihalevitch was not discouraged, but as idealist or cynic, lived on a crust of bread, sincerely rejoicing or grieving over the destinies of humanity, and his own vocation, and troubling himself very little as to how to escape dying of hunger. Mihalevitch was not married: but had been in love times beyond number, and had written poems to all the objects of his adoration; he sang with especial fervour the praises of a mysterious black-tressed "n.o.ble Polish lady." There were rumours, it is true, that this "n.o.ble Polish lady" was a simple Jewess, very well known to a good many cavalry officers--but, after all, what do you think--does it really make any difference?

With Lemm, Mihalevitch did not get on; his noisy talk and brusque manners scared the German, who was unused to such behaviour. One poor devil detects another by instinct at once, but in old age he rarely gets on with him, and that is hardly astonishing, he has nothing to share with him, not even hopes.

Before setting off, Mihalevitch had another long discussion with Lavretsky, foretold his ruin, if he did not see the error of his ways, exhorted him to devote himself seriously to the welfare of his peasants, and pointed to himself as an example, saying that he had been purified in the furnace of suffering; and in the same breath called himself several times a happy man, comparing himself with the fowl of the air and the lily of the field.

"A black lily, any way," observed Lavretsky.

"Ah, brother, don't be a sn.o.b!" retorted Mihalevitch, good-naturedly, "but thank G.o.d rather there is a pure plebeian blood in your veins too.

But I see that you want some pure, heavenly creature to draw you out of your apathy."

"Thanks, brother," remarked Lavretsky. "I have had quite enough of those heavenly creatures."

"Silence, ceeneec!" cried Mihalevitch.

"Cynic," Lavretsky corrected him.

"Ceeneec, just so," repeated Mihalevitch unabashed.

Even when he had taken his seat in the carriage, to which his flat, yellow, strangely light trunk was carried, he still talked; m.u.f.fled in a kind of Spanish cloak with a collar, brown with age, and a clasp of two lion's paws; he went on developing his views on the destiny of Russian, and waving his swarthy hand in the air, as though he were sowing the seeds of her future prosperity. The horses started at last.

"Remember my three last words," he cried, thrusting his whole body out of the carriage and balancing so, "Religion, progress, humanity!...

Farewell."

His head, with a foraging cap pulled down over his eyes, disappeared.

Lavretsky was left standing alone on the steps, and he gazed steadily into the distance along the road till the carriage disappeared out of sight. "Perhaps he is right, after all," he thought as he went back into the house; "perhaps I am a loafer." Many of Mihalevitch's words had sunk irresistibly into his heart, though he had disputed and disagreed with him. If a man only has a good heart, no one can resist him.

Chapter XXVI

Two days later, Marya Dmitrievna visited Va.s.silyevskoe according to her promise, with all her young people. The little girls ran at once into the garden, while Marya Dmitrievna languidly walked through the rooms and languidly admired everything. She regarded her visit to Lavretsky as a sign of great condescension, almost as a deed of charity. She smiled graciously when Anton and Apraxya kissed her hand in the old-fashioned house-servants' style; and in a weak voice, speaking through her nose, asked for some tea. To the great vexation of Anton, who had put on knitted white gloves for the purpose, tea was not handed to the grand lady visitor by him, but by Lavretsky's hired valet, who in the old man's words, had not a notion of what was proper. To make up for this, Anton resumed his rights at dinner: he took up a firm position behind Marya Dmitrievna's chair; and he would not surrender his post to any one. The appearance of guests after so long an interval at Va.s.silyevskoe fluttered and delighted the old man. It was a pleasure to him to see that his master was acquainted with such fine gentlefolk. He was not, however, the only one who was fluttered that day; Lemm, too, was in agitation. He had put on a rather short snuff-coloured coat with a swallow-tail, and tied his neck handkerchief stiffly, and he kept incessantly coughing and making way for people with a cordial and affable air. Lavretsky noticed with pleasure that his relations with Lisa were becoming more intimate; she had held out her hand to him affectionately directly she came in. After dinner Lemm drew out of his coat-tail pocket, into which he had continually been fumbling, a small roll of music-paper and compressing his lips he laid it without speaking on the pianoforte. It was a song composed by him the evening before, to some old-fashioned German words, in which mention was made of the stars.

Lisa sat down at once to the piano and played at sight the song....

Alas! the music turned out to be complicated and painfully strained; it was clear that the composer had striven to express something pa.s.sionate and deep, but nothing had come of it; the effort had remained an effort.

Lavretsky and Lisa both felt this, and Lemm understood it. Without uttering a single word, he put his song back into his pocket, and in reply to Lisa's proposal to play it again, he only shook his head and said significantly: "Now--enough!" and shrinking into himself he turned away.

Towards evening the whole party went out to fish. In the pond behind the garden there were plenty of carp and groundlings. Marya Dmitrievna was put in an arm-chair near the banks, in the shade, with a rug under her feet and the best line was given to her. Anton as an old experienced angler offered her his services. He zealously put on the worms, and clapped his hand on them, spat on them and even threw in the line with a graceful forward swing of his whole body. Marya Dmitrievna spoke of him the same day to Fedor Ivanitch in the following phrase, in boarding-school French: "Il n'y a plus maintenant de ces gens comme ca, comme autrefois." Lemm with the two little girls went off further to the dam of the pond; Lavretsky took up his position near Lisa. The fish were continually biting, the carp were constantly flashing in the air with golden and silvery sides as they were drawn in; the cries of pleasure of the little girls were incessant, even Marya Dmitrievna uttered a little feminine shriek on two occasions. The fewest fish were caught by Lavretsky and Lisa; probably this was because they paid less attention than the others to the angling, and allowed their floats to swim back right up to the bank. The high reddish reeds rustled quietly around, the still water shone quietly before them, and quietly too they talked together. Lisa was standing on a small raft; Lavretsky sat on the inclined trunk of a willow; Lisa wore a white gown, tied round the waist with a broad ribbon, also white; her straw hat was hanging on one hand, and in the other with some effort she held up the crooked rod. Lavretsky gazed at her pure, somewhat severe profile, at her hair drawn back behind her ears, at her soft cheeks, which glowed like a little child's, and thought, "Oh, how sweet you are, bending over my pond!" Lisa did not turn to him, but looked at the water, half frowning, to keep the sun out of her eyes, half smiling. The shade of the lime-tree near fell upon both.

"Do you know," began Lavretsky, "I have been thinking over our last conversation a great deal, and have come to the conclusion that you are exceedingly good."

"That was not at all my intention in-----" Lisa was beginning to reply, and she was overcome with embarra.s.sment.

"You are good," repeated Lavretsky. "I am a rough fellow, but I feel that every one must love you. There's Lemm for instance; he is simply in love with you."

Lisa's brows did not exactly frown, they contracted slightly; it always happened with her when she heard something disagreeable to her.

"I was very sorry for him to-day," Lavretsky added, "with his unsuccessful song. To be young and to fail is bearable; but to be old and not be successful is hard to bear. And how mortifying it is to feel that one's forces are deserting one! It is hard for an old man to bear such blows!... Be careful, you have a bite.... They say," added Lavretsky after a short pause, "that Vladimir Nikolaitch has written a very pretty song."

"Yes," replied Lisa, "it is only a trifle, but not bad."

"And what do you think," inquired Lavretsky; "is he a good musician?"

"I think he has great talent for music; but so far he has not worked at it, as he should."

"Ah! And is he a good sort of man?"

Lisa laughed and glanced quickly at Fedor Ivanitch.

"What a queer question!" she exclaimed, drawing up her line and throwing it in again further off.

"Why is it queer? I ask you about him, as one who has only lately come here, as a relation."

"A relation?"

"Yes. I am, it seems, a sort of uncle of yours?"

"Vladimir Nikolaitch has a good heart," said Lisa, "and he is clever; maman likes him very much."

"And do you like him?"

"He is nice; why should I not like him?"

"Ah!" Lavretsky uttered and ceased speaking. A half-mournful, half-ironical expression pa.s.sed over his face. His steadfast gaze embarra.s.sed Lisa, but he went on smiling.--"Well, G.o.d grant them happiness!" he muttered at last, as though to himself, and turned away his head.

Lisa flushed.

"You are mistaken, Fedor Ivanitch," she said: "you are wrong in thinking .... But don't you like Vladimir Nikolaitch?" she asked suddenly.

"No, I don't."

"Why?"

"I think he has no heart."

The smile left Lisa's face.

"It is your habit to judge people severely," she observed after a long silence.